Silence.
My life began in silence.
Of all the things I would have given to remember that sound, my life never seemed like a suitable option. The static that constantly flowed through my brain was encompassing, as were the morbid thoughts that came with it. I spent my life trying to see this as a gift, the way the television and movies always made it seem.
The gift of telepathy- also known as mind reading- was a strange and powerful thing. It felt like sinking your head into a pool and letting the cold water flow over your eyes. It felt like knowledge in its purest form. Unfortunately, at 15 years of age, it also felt like being the only sober guy at a kegger. The roar of water, the spilling of knowledge, and the ruckus of the alphabetically challenged trying to prove their sobriety- It was a great party, until you realized it wasn't going to end.
No, my life was never up for the taking. I wanted to live and breathe quiet, to get away from the crowd of thoughts constantly swimming through my brain, to be able to think. It had been a year since I'd last seen her; as beautiful as she was smart, holding her head high with a steady gaze, even as she left me.
"Barry, are you listening?" shit.
"Yeah, umm, yes. Sorry. You were talking about your art class." My fingers worried at my temples, trying to find some way to focus on the conversation.
"Barry."
"Yeah?" I glanced around, trying to find some way to change the subject.
She snapped her fingers in my face. "I'm not in an art class. What's going on? It's like you haven't heard a thing I've said all year."
Well, she wasn't that far off. I took her hand in mine and focused. "You don't look it, but you're tired, and you've fallen asleep in three of your classes today. There's nothing you want to do more right now than go home and lay down, but you know you won't, because you're too stubborn. You think I don't listen, but I listen more than you could possibly know." I looked into her eyes. "I'm here, and I'm listening." But I was tired, too.
That speech could only work for so long before she decided I only listened when she got mad. What was I supposed to do? I could only hear her clearly while I touched her, and from what I've heard, girls want boyfriends, not leeches. There was no way I could always have my hand on her. She left me to sit on her shelf, but little did she know I'd been gathering dust on dozens of other shelves before I even heard her think, "I can't love you."
That was the day my life became a suitable option.